Queen of Hearts
by bookworm1771
Summary: Holmes and Watson encounter someone who keeps complicating their cases, especially the case of the Ivory Angel. But what happens when the case turns out to hit too close to home for certain people, and lives are hanging in the balance? HolmesXOC
1. Prologue

**Hi guys! This is my first Sherlock Holmes fanfiction! This is just the prologue, so don't worry, you'll find out more about all the murders and all the information about the case later on. **

**I don't own anything other than my own character (who is in the next chapter). :)**

**Love,**

**Bookworm **

**xxx**

**P.S I hope you like it!**

**P.P.S Please review and tell me what you think of it so far!**

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><p><strong><span>Prologue<span>**

_Points of attack:_

_Downwards swipe to the calf._

_Force the nose up into the brain with palm of hand._

_Blow to the throat_

_Swift kick in the chest._

_Total damage: Broken leg, hemorrhaging brain, crushed windpipe and three cracked ribs._

_Total recovery time: Non existent._

Sherlock Holmes quietly incapacitated his opponent in precisely 6.2 seconds letting the body slide to the floor in a quiet slump. Holmes dragged the unconscious and bleeding man into a dark corner of the dusty room, making sure that if someone were to walk in, they wouldn't find the man and be alerted that an intruder was in their midst. Dusting his hands, Holmes swept from the room, his tailored coat flapping slightly in his wake. Ahead of him, Holmes heard the piercing scream of the serial killer's next victim. The Ivory Angel (titled by the reporters of London) was a notorious serial killer, who had killed over forty-six women in England alone, and was currently terrorizing London, it's industrious capital city.

Sherlock Holmes and his closest friend Doctor John Watson, M.D, had been tracking the case for the past three weeks, and after many fruitless hours and cold leads, they had finally reached its epic climax, here in a dusty warehouse just off of the Thames. Silent as a door mouse, Holmes hurried through the dark corridors and reached a large domed room that (by Homes' calculations) was a little over three stories high, though it was difficult to estimate the area. The room was dotted with large wooden cargo boxes, waiting to be shipped off to distant foreign lands, and in the middle of the large room stood two figures shrouded in darkness; one was tall and intimidating, the other a little shorter and shrinking away from the taller one in fear.

Holmes mutely ducked behind the nearest cargo box, and snuck his way towards the struggling girl and her captor, keeping out of view by crouching behind boxes as he went. As Homes got closer to them, the details of the couple became clearer. The tall figure was a man with silver blond hair and dull blue eyes. He wasn't the handsomest man in London by any means, in fact he looked quite dirty and disheveled. Holmes would normally have pinned this on the fact that he was a criminal, who was most likely sleeping rough, but the clothes gave him away. If the man had been sleeping somewhere dirty, or even the streets like the rest of London's vagrants, surely his clothes would reflect that? But alas, no. The clothes that this man wore were magnanimous, displaying that he was wealthy, and were in pristine condition, almost as if they were new.

This, Holmes assumed, was the Ivory Angel, for although he's killed so many women, no one had actually seen enough of him to give an accurate description. Holmes turned his analytical gaze to the weeping woman at the Ivory Angel's side. She had scraggly, unwashed, black hair set atop a gaunt face. The woman was a simple, middle aged peasant as she was dressed in old bedraggled rags. As the woman continued to sob and try to break free, a silver gleam caught Holmes' eye: a knife.

The Ivory Angel had whipped out a rusty butchers knife, still coated in the dry blood of his past victims. He raised the blade above his head, preparing to strike the screaming woman. Holmes made to jump out of his hiding place to try and apprehend the murderer, but was interrupted by a quick figure who had appeared from behind a box on the opposite side to Holmes. At first he thought that it was Watson, trying to be gallant and heroic in saving the poor woman from an early demise, but he quickly realized that it wasn't Watson at all, but the rather annoying and mysterious character who kept turning up and complicating Holmes' cases. He narrowed his eyes and watched the inscrutable cloaked figure dash towards the murder and his soon to be victim.

The stranger was dressed all in black with a large hood obscuring it's (for Holmes did not know if the stranger was man or a woman) face in shadow, masking his/her identity. As quick as a flash of lightening, the cloaked enigma had pulled out two long daggers, and in a flurry of arms, started to to slash them at the Ivory Angel. His eyes widened, taken surprised by the sudden onslaught, as he looked down to see crimson blood slowly spreading on the front of his crisp white shirt. The woman at his side gave a strangled scream and promptly fainted, falling to the floor beside her captor. Quickly the stranger sheathed his/her blades and fled from the blood filled crime scene. Holmes picked himself up from where he'd been crouched and followed hot on the persons heels.

The strangers short strides were fortunately no match for Holmes' long ones, and Holmes quickly caught up, flinging himself forward and pushing the assailant to the ground. Feeling exhilarated, Holmes leaped towards the winded figure, who was still on the ground, and pulled the stranger up by the arm. The stranger threw a punch at the detective, but Holmes promptly blocked it and retaliated by throwing a deft punch of his own. Holmes may have been faster at running, but these two were an equal match when it came to hand-to-hand combat.

_Have I finally met my match?_

Holmes finally managed to land a blow to the side of his opponents head, causing the latter's head to slip back slightly, revealing pretty silver eyes, too pretty, Holmes thought, to belong to any man. Holmes faltered in surprise at the fact that he had thought this woman had "pretty" eyes (and also that a _woman _was equally matched against him), giving the woman a chance to break free from the fight and flee. The stranger left Holmes standing there silently cursing himself for allowing her to get away. Again. Holmes sighed tiredly and turned to head back towards the bodies of the Ivory Angel and the unconscious woman, but froze mid step as something shiny caught his eye for the second time that evening. A silver necklace was lying coiled on the concrete floor with a diamond cross hanging off of it. Holmes slowly bent down and carefully picked it up with his gloved fingers. The chain was thing and frail, broken at the clasp. It must have broken during the scuffle that she had had with Holmes, and she hadn't noticed its absence, or she didn't have time to grab it as she fled.

He turned and started once again for the bodies in the other room, carefully slipping the necklace into his coat pocket as he went.

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><p><strong>So yeah :) Hope you guys liked it, and once again, PLEASE REVIEW! :D <strong>

**Love you forever!**

**(BTW, when I said about the whole thing with her being a woman, I wasn't trying to offend anyone, it was just the mindset in Victorian London back then :) Hope I didn't offend ****anyone.)**

**Bookworm xxx**


	2. Chapter 1

**Hi guys! So normally I'd wait until I had a few more reviews before I uploaded the next chapter, but I thought I'd be nice and do it now seeing as you've only seen the Prologue :(**

**So in this chapter you get to see the OC! *dances* Huzzah! Anyway I hope you enjoy it, and like the OC. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than Madeline Hart :)**

**bookworm**

**xxx**

**P.S Review please! :D**

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

**Holmes...**

Holmes approached the body that was lying, sprawled, in a gathering pool of his own blood. The unconscious woman was now fully conscious, and sitting a few feet away, staring blankly at the Ivory Angel's face. A young blond man, who was crouched over the man, examining the body, looked up to the sound of Holmes' approaching footsteps.

"Watson! Where on Earth have you been?" Holmes asked indignantly.

"I'm terribly sorry, I got lost." Watson replied distractedly as he checked for a pulse.

"Lost?" Holmes repeated incredulously. "You were right behind me."

"Yes, well," Watson defended himself, "not all of us can sprint for a straight twenty minutes. We're not all machines."

Holmes ignored him and stared at the body, glancing over it with a furrowed brow.

"So what exactly happened? Surely _you_ didn't kill him?"

"No, I didn't." Holmes stated gravely. "She turned up again."

"'_She'_?" Inquired Watson. "What makes you think that it's a woman?"

Holmes showed him the necklace and explained about the hood slipping back slightly to show the eyes (leaving out that they were _pretty_).

"Hm, yes, I suppose you're right." Watson said thoughtfully.

Holmes was about to inform his dear friend that he was always right, but was distracted by something on the body.

"Watson, what do you notice about these wounds?" Holmes asked scholarly.

"Nothing out of sorts, I don't think."

"Incorrect." Stated Holmes. "Do you have any water on you?" While Holmes ripped open the front of the Ivory Angel's bloodstained shirt, Watson reached into his medical case and retrieved a glass phial of water, which he handed to Holmes. He poured it carelessly over the wounds, and as the cool liquid washed away the blood from the deep incisions, it showed the cuts more clearly.

"Do you notice anything now?" Holmes asked in his usual smug way of knowing everything.

Watson tilted his head to the side, the better to see the wounds. The collection of cuts formed a weird kind of picture of a pair of wings, spread out across his chest.

"Just like his victims." Watson muttered.

"Exactly." On every single woman that was found, cuts were on their chest, hand, head; basically anywhere visible on the body, and they all made up a grotesque pair of wings. "And," continued Holmes. "There are exactly forty seven incisions."

"One for every victim."

"The forty-seventh being him."

Holmes and Watson stared thoughtfully at the body until a familiar voice made them look up. "Well," said Lestrade, looking gravely at the Ivory Angel. "Talk about karmic retribution. Well done for catching them lads, better late than never."

Holmes glares in the direction of the Detective Inspector. "And you could have done better then?" Holmes asked him, annoyed.

Lestrade ignored him and proceeded to ask Watson what happened as Scotland Yard policemen started to fill up the room. Holmes listened to Watson rattle off the events of the evening, occasionally inputting information, but quickly lost interest in the conversation, as he saw that discreetly tucked into the Ivory Angel's coat pocket was a playing card.

Holmes' pulse jumped at the thrill of a new clue, but was quickly disappointed when he saw that it was just another Queen of Hearts. He sighed inwardly as he picked it up and flipped it between his fingers. Holmes had been finding a lot of these recently, for when the stranger interrupted their case and did something significant (such as killing the Ivory Angel), she'd leave behind this calling card.

Holmes straightened up and thought about everything that he had discovered that evening about the cloaked stranger. First of all, the stranger was a woman due to the fact that she had feminine gray eyes, with just a hint of makeup on the eye lids, and she wore a necklace. Second, she was religious, as the aforementioned necklace had a silver cross. Christian. Third, she was uniquely skilled with a blade, which was only strange because she was a woman. If she was a man, it would not have been so uncommon because he may have simple been in the army, like Watson, but the army doesn't accept woman, so she must have learned it from someone close to her, who had been.

And last, she always left behind a calling card of sorts: the Queen of Hearts. A queen could signify that she's a woman, powerful, rich, in charge, wise. The gears turned quickly in Holmes' head as Watson finished speaking to Lestrade and packed up his medical kit.

"Coming, Holmes?"

Holmes took one last sweeping glance at the crime scene and followed Watson out of the warehouse and towards 221b Baker Street.

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><p>The next day, Holmes and Watson strode through the busy streets of London on their way back to 221b Baker street after meeting with Lestrade to give him their official statements of last night. The sky above their heads was a foggy gray, the heavy clouds threatening to cry large drops of water, thought the inhabitants of London had learned to ignore the dreary English weather and get on with their daily lives.<p>

Holmes tilted his head slightly towards the sky and sniffed the air a little. It was definitely going to rain this evening. Good. That would be a more than sufficient excuse not to be dragged out by Watson to go have dinner with him and Mary. Holmes could get a cold.

"So how long do you think it'll take Lestrade and his men to find this woman?" Watson asked absentmindedly.

"He won't." Holmes replied confidently. "I'll give it a week and he'll be begging for my help, though I'm not sure whether I'll definitely help him though."

"What?" Spluttered Watson. "This person is dangerous!"

"How so?" challenged Holmes. "All she's done is help us. In her own way."

"So far. What if she turns on us next? What if she gets bored of helping us and decides to help the criminals instead?"

"Well then we can do something about it. For now, we shouldn't interfere."

"I just don't understand why you can possibly want to keep her around, Holmes." Watson said exasperatedly.

"Well I still don't know why I kept you around either, Watson, but that's life." Muttered Holmes.

Watson scowled at Holmes and opened his mouth to retort, but was cut short by a yell.

"John!" A young woman had ran up to the surprised Watson and embraced him in a tight hug.

"Maddy?" Watson laughed incredulously. "It's so good to see you again."

The woman pulled back, grinning and Holmes took in her appearance. Her auburn curls were pinned up in a chignon, and she wore an emerald green dress (**A/N: Picture of dress on my profile, ignore the makeup that the woman is wearing.)** that complicated her red hair and creamy complexion, but made her silver gray eyes stand out in contrast. She was certainly beautiful, Holmes thought, and she carried herself with the posture and grace that one only learns from growing up in a rich family.

But those eyes, they were just too unforgettable with their piercing silver almost the colour of liquid mercury. And Holmes had definitely seen those eyes before, in fact he;d seen them just last night.

"Allow me to make introductions," smiled Watson. "Maddy this is Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. Holmes this is Miss Madeline Hart, a longtime friend of mine.

_Hart. Heart._

Madeline smiled gracefully. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr Holmes."

Holmes inclined his head politely, the metaphorical cogs in his brain turning quickly. It was no coincidence that that Madeline had just suddenly decided to visit London during the time that Holmes and Watson had been working on a case that had been disrupted many times by a certain silver eyes someone.

Upon a second examination of Miss Hart, Holmes noted some extra details:there was a faint bruise across her left cheekbone that was cleverly concealed by powder and rouge; dark circles were under her eyes, suggesting that she was tired, perhaps from staying out late, and her hair looked like it had hurriedly been put up not long ago, and without assistance of a maid.

"So what brings you to London?" Watson asked her as Holmes continued to stare at her, and she him.

"Father sent me here to look for some work. He's fallen ill you see, so he can't work himself."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help his recovery?" Watson asked sympathetically. Trust the caring doctor to not notice who she really was.

"Thank you, John. But we've got out family doctor looking after him."

She glanced to the left and fiddled nervously with the umbrella she was carrying. Key signed of when someone is lying.

"You must join us for diner this evening. I'm sure-"

Holmes let Watson's voice fade into background noise as he continued his analysis of Miss Hart.

"-won't we, Holmes?" Watson's voice cut through his reverie.

"I'm sorry?"

"Be delighted to have her at dinner this evening."

"Of course." Holmes smiled thinly. "You'll have to excuse me, but I just remembered that there was something I forgot to mention to Lestrade, Watson. So I will leave you two to get reacquainted with each other."

The two nodded as Holmes turned to leave. "Oh, and Watson," he called. "I think you're quite right, that we ought to reveal the identity of this woman." His eyes locked with Madeline's. "She's becoming quite a nuisance."

Holmes tipped his hat and bid them farewell.

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><p><strong>So yeah...bit of a rubbish ending but oh well. Next chapter will be a Madeline chapter, so you can get a feel for what she's like and we'll find out why she's in London and what her connection is to the Ivory Angel...DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUN <strong>

**^ Yeah I'm over dramatic sometimes .**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and look forward to the next one which will be up soon :)**

**(By the way, I survive on reviews so the more you review the more likely I am to continue the story :D ) **

**^^^Ooooohh blackmail! :L I joke :)...or do I?**

**Anyway, I'm rambling now, so au revoir! :D**


	3. Chapter 2

**Music for this chapter:**

**Moonlight Armies by Two Steps From Hell**

Chapter 2

Madeline...

_He knows, _thought Madeline, _as soon as he saw me, he knew who I was._

Madeline silently scolded herself for being so careless last night; in letting her purposefully dark hood fall back and let Holmes glimpse her most prominent feature. But of course she would have to disregard any hopes of the illustrious Sherlock Holmes wouldn't remember her. He was Sherlock Holmes for goodness sake.

"So how are the rest of your family?" Watson asked , breaking Madeline's train of thought. Her throat constricted and it was difficult to swallow.

"Mother died last month." She valiantly fought away the salty tears that were burning at her eyes.

"I'm so very sorry, Maddy." Replied Watson. And for the first time in weeks, she heard it from someone who actually meant it. Watson had been her best friend ever since they were born,their families houses were on the same road, and they used to play together in one of the many lush fields that made up the English country side, and they even went to the same school. They'd only lost touch when Watson had joined the army and gone to Afghanistan to fight, and she didn't know that he'd left and was back in England, so she didn't think to write him.

Madeline tried to promptly change the subject, and away from the topic of her family. "So I've heard that you've become quite famous here in London." She grinned at him slyly. "'Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson, Detectives Extraordinaire'!" Madeline quoted.

Watson smiled modestly. "It's Holmes mainly. Well, it'll be _all _Holmes soon." He sighed a little wistfully whilst sidestepping a muddy puddle.

"Ah, yes. I heard about that as well. _Engaged_." Maddy said gravely, as if they were discussing something unspeakable.

Watson laughed and shook his head. "There's no need to sound so horrified, Maddy. Mary is a wonderful woman who I'm completely in love with."

"But aren't you going to miss it?" Maddy asked, eyebrows raised and sounding exhilarated. "The cases, solving mysteries, catching criminals and whatnot?"

"Of course, but when you're on cases with Holmes, they're barely ever 'part time'. They take up nearly every minute of your day, and those are minutes I would like to be spending with Mary."

"Well I'm happy for you, John." Watson looked at her sceptically. "Really." She laughed.

_I should tell him the real reason I'm in London._

It's not like she isn't going to be revealed soon by Holmes anyway. Maddy clenched her jaw angrily. All that work to remain undetected and semi-discreet, completely down the drain. But how bad could it be to tell Watson? It wasn't like she was some world class criminal. She was his best friend, he'd understand.

"John..."

"Hm?" Watson inquired.

Maddy backpedaled and decided to wait until they joined Holmes for dinner in the evening. That would be the best time to do it, she thought, because then she could calmly explain her purpose in London.

"Never mind, it doesn't matter."

The two spend the rest of the morning strolling the cobbled streets of London and catching up on everything that had happened since they last spoke. At about one o'clock they parted ways; Watson heading back to Baker Street, and Madeline to her hotel.

Holmes...

Later that evening, Holmes was lounging lazily on the sofa of the sitting room, plucking randomly at his violin and thinking about Miss Madeline Hart. He had decided, amidst Watson's speech about how he should act politely towards her (and under no circumstances should he tell her what he deducts from her, because Watson didn't want a repeat of what happened when he introduced Holmes to Mary), that he was going to wait and see if she was going to reveal herself. Failing that, he'd do it himself.

"Holmes!" Watson waved a hand in front of his face.

"What?"

"Did you hear a single word I said to you?"

"Of course. Some rubbish about politeness."

Watson sighed exasperatedly and stalked from the room, just as the doorbell rang. Holmes stood up from his place on the comfortable sofa, placed his violin on the cluttered desk, pulled on his dinner jacket and left the room. He found Miss Hart and Watson waiting for him in the hallway, quietly talking to each other. This evening, Madeline was wearing a midnight blue dress with a black detail on the corset. In her auburn hair nestled an emerald butterfly. Holmes noted once again, that her clothes proved more and more that she had a good sum of money.

"Mr Holmes." She greeted him politely.

"Shall we go through? Mrs Hudson has prepared a wonderful dinner that should be ready soon." Watson led them through. The trio walked into the dining room, which was set elegantly for three people in a colour scheme of light blue and cream, and sat down. Madeline and Watson made small talk, but Holmes soon grew bored and decided to make things more interesting.

"So how is it that you know Watson, Miss Hart?"

Madeline looked away from Watson (who Holmes had just interrupted), and gazed hesitantly at Holmes. "Why don't you tell me?" She smirked.

Ah, the exact question he was hoping she'd ask. Watson shot him a deathly warning look from across the table, but Holmes ignored him as he turned his whole body so that he faced her fully staring into her captivating silver eyes.

"That bruise on your left cheekbone is old, probably about three weeks old, which suggests some sort of domestic violence before you came to London. You walk gracefully and have a good posture which show that you come from a rich and prestigious family, and you had dance lessons when you were younger. You dress well which implies you have a lot of money. You're skin is fair and clear which means that there is a stronger chance that you don't live in the city, probably the countryside. Your father is not ill, like you told Watson earlier, as when you were discussing it with him you looked to the left and fiddled slightly with your fingers. Your favourite colour is green, you're unmarried, someone in your close family gambles and you're a Christian, albeit not a very strong one." Holmes concluded with a sip of wine as he turned away from her.

"Well done, Mr Holmes. You were right on all accounts. But may I ask you how you knew I was a christian and that someone in my family gambles?" asked Madeline mildly.

"Because, unfortunately for you, you left these behind last night." Holmes retrieved the necklace and playing card from his pocket and put them on the table in plain view. Madeline looked unsurprised and took a sip of wine, whilst Watson's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Maddy? What's going on?"


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Madeline...**

Madeline's heart thudded heavily once in her chest, and she took an elegant sip of wine to calm her erratic nerves. She glanced over at her dear Watson, who currently had a mask of betrayal upsetting his face. Maddy sighed faintly, and decided that she may as well tell all, seeing as she'd been discovered far more quickly than she would have favoured.

"All right, Mr Holmes; John. I'll tell you the truth. But before I begin, I would just like to clarify that I am not a murder, and I did not kill that man yesterday in cold blood."

Maddy peeked at Watson, and was relieved to see that he looked slightly more assured than he did just a few moments ago. Although, she was slightly hurt by the fact that Watson thought that she, his childhood best friend, would assassinate someone.

"Go on then, Madeline." He nodded stiffly.

Madeline cleared her throat delicately, and began her harrowing tale. "A couple of months ago, my mother died of Tuberculosis. She was peaceful, in the end, I like to think; she left us in her sleep, clutching her favourite novel." Madeline stared off into the distance for a couple of minutes in reminiscence before continuing.

"We all reacted differently to Mother's death; I read all of her books, smelt her perfume and spent all of my time in her room, trying to preserve her memory; my brother became a compulsive gambler; and my father took to alcohol." Maddy's fist clenched on her lap, and to distract herself as

she spoke, she leisurely polished her cutlery on the ivory napkin that was set out before her.

"Often, William would come home and root the house, looking for something of particular value to sell in an attempt to pay off his mountainous debts, most of which were owed to dangerous thugs. My father, who could normally be found in a drunk stupor, would roar his disapproval, and beat William until he was black and blue; then retreat back to his study with nothing but a bottle of whiskey and his own company.

"One evening, my brother came home from a poker game in tears.

'Maddy,' he pleaded with me. 'They're going to come here and kill me if I don't pay them. Please! Just lend me those pretty jewels that hang around your neck and they'll be gone!' I was frightened, as this sounded nothing like the brother that I loved; William had been replaced by a madman who was interested only in woman, drink and money. He had a wild look in his eyes, one close to that of a hunting tiger, and his voice sounded mechanical and slightly insane. He pounced upon me and viciously ripped the silver necklace I was wearing from my throat, and started out of the door with it. Unfortunately for him though, Father had decided to retire for the night, and walked into the room, unaware of what was going on between us."

Madeline closed her eyes.

"I don't even know if father was drunk or not that evening. He caught my brother by the throat and threw him across the room, and in his drunken rage he-"

Madeline stopped and realised she was breathing heavily, twisting the table cloths in knots.

"Well, I'll spare you the morbid details," she laughed humorlessly. "It all ended with William grabbing a knife that was lying on the kitchen table, and stabbed Father four times in the heart. Once he'd realized what he'd done, he grabbed the forgotten necklace that was lying on the floor and fled from the house. I remained in our village long enough for the funeral and reading of the will, and then I decided to follow my dear brother to London, where I knew he was heading if he wanted any semblance of a job. While I searched for him, I applied for a job in a book shop, and checked into the Strand Hotel."

"And I'm assuming you were successful in your search for him?" Holmes asked drily, and Maddy knew that he must already have deduced what relation William had to the case.

"Oh, I found him. Down a dark alleyway, slaughtering a poor woman and taking her jewelry. He looked up just in time to see me arrive; he winked at me and ran out of the alleyway and into the neighboring shop. I knew then, in that moment of time, that my brother had died inside, and was no longer the playful boy that taught me to ride a horse or play games with me in the parlor. He had been taken over by a fierce predator, thirsty for blood and the thrill of the hunt."

There was a long heavy silence that was broken by Watson's hoarse voice.

"So, are you saying that your brother, William Hart, is the infamous Ivory Angel who's bee terrorizing London?"

"That's absurd."

"As absurd as it may seem, John, it's true."

There was another long silence as everyone mulled over their own thoughts. Suddenly, Holmes sprung up from his seat.

"It may be absurd, Watson, but this is elementary! Don't you see?" Holmes began to pace the room with long strides. "We now know his motive for all of these disastrous murders, and if we have a motive we can piece together the diminutive amount of clues we have, resulting in a discovery of a pattern or some sort of hint as to where he'll strike next..."

Holmes continued with his babble, and the realization of what was happening began to crash down on her.

Her brother was the murderer. Sure, Maddy had been tracking him every day since she arrived in London, and even more so since she was him in that alleyway. She'd even been present on multiple occasions when Holmes and Watson were close to discovering who he was. But all of that felt unreal; like she was stumbling blindly through a horrible fairytale that wouldn't have a happy ending. Now, however, it was like Holmes had turned on the light when he had caught her in that warehouse, and now she was seeing details clearly, sharply; and the realness of what is happening started to suffocate her.

Madeline began to rise out of her chair, interrupting Holmes mid-speech.

"I ought to go, much to do tomorrow." She lied.

Holmes stared at her intently, as Watson showed her out of the door. "Will you come here tomorrow? You would be a great asset to the case, Maddy." Watson asked her.

"Of course." Maddy smiled, and descended down the steps into the dark velvet night, oblivious to the fact that a pair of eyes were watching her from behind a tree.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N **

**Hello…? Anyone there? LONG TIME NO SEE MY DEAR READERS. Sorry about that my chums, I guess I kind of forgot this story exists. I was reading Sherlock Holmes fan fiction the other day, stumbled across this one, forgot I wrote it and was annoyed that the author hadn't updated….awkward. :/**

**But fear not, I have planned some new chapters, so all I have to do is write them! Once again, I apologise for being gone for so long, the inspiration fairy hasn't paid me a visit in a while **

**R&R!  
>P.S I'm going to write in first person from now on, I find it a lot easier to express emotions and thoughts, sorry if it annoys you :**

**Bookworm xxx**

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><p>Chapter 4<p>

Madeline…

Looking in the oversized mirror in my hotel room, I took a pin from in between my teeth and slid it into my hair, fixing my fiery hair into place. Sighing despairingly, I let my mind drift to last night's disastrous meal with Holmes and Watson. As confident as I'd been in my disguise, I knew I'd be caught out eventually - it _was _Sherlock Holmes after all. Meeting him and being on the end of one of his deductions was quite different from seeing him briefly, and then dashing from the scene before he could seize me.

His brilliance really was something else though; never before have I met someone like him. Even though he makes my brain ache with how he can possibly deduce such things from me, it exhilarated me at the same time. Sherlock Holmes was _exciting_.

His impolite and cold exterior effortlessly fooled people into thinking he was some sort of machine, but his piercing eyes betrayed his excitement when he deduced something correctly, or when he had someone trapped in his web like when he saw me in the street with John that first day. Not a single flicker of surprise was displayed across his face, yet his eyes glinted with triumph at finding me mere hours after our scrap.

The truth is, I _need _Sherlock Holmes. I need his genius and help in finding William, he's already killed over forty women, and he needs to be stopped. And if Holmes refuses to help me…well. I'll just make sure that he does help me, there's nothing else that I can do.

I sighed tiredly, put down the extra hair pins that I don't need, picked up my overcoat and left my room to go meet John for coffee in the restaurant in the downstairs of the hotel. John was sat reading a newspaper, sitting anxiously straight, his foot tapping the floor impatiently. My chest tightened with guilt at his obvious distress and feelings of betrayal.

"Ah, Maddy, there you are." Watson mumbled, not meeting my eyes. I sat in the seat opposite him feeling increasingly guilty, ordered a fresh pot of tea from a passing waiter, and then raised my eyes to gaze at Watson.

"Why didn't you tell me, Madeline?" he whispered. "I could've helped you!"

My throat tightened, overwhelmed by the fact that he did in fact want to help me. Now just to see if Holmes wanted to as well…

"I'm sorry John. I wanted to as soon as I realised you and Holmes were on the case, but I didn't want to put you in danger." I swallowed, "If you were hurt, it'd be my entire fault."

John remained silent, his jaw clenched. "Please John; I was going to tell you yesterday anyway, it's just that Holmes beat me to it."

John rolled his eyes at the mention of his friend. "Yes well, even if you weren't involved in this mess he'd of gone off on one of his maddening deductions of you." He smiled lightly and met my eyes. I grinned back, knowing everything was going to be alright between us.

There was a comfortable silence between us, so I decided to just go ahead and ask him: "Will you help me, John? Help me find William?"

John smiled sadly and rested his hand on top of mine, "Of course Maddy, and I'll make sure Holmes does as well."

I smiled gratefully. My heart lightened as the realisation that I don't have to hunt for him by myself sunk in. Finally, my shoulders were lighter. How lucky I was to have a friend in John Watson and I felt tears of joy and relief prick my eyes slightly. Although I still felt the constant feeling that something bad would happen as the guilt and paranoia slowly began closing in on me again.

"Just one question," John inquired, not noticing the emotional battle I was having inside.

"Mmm?" I replied absent-mindedly as the waiter set our tea on the table and left.

"Where on earth did you learn to fight?"

I paused briefly in my pouring of the tea and glanced up.

"Erm, well. I may have sort of threatened someone you and I both know into teaching me." How is it this man manages to make me feel guilty about everything I do?

"And who, pray tell, is that?"

"Remember Daniel Meyer?"

John choked slightly on his tea. "Daniel Meyer?! That ghastly boy that used to bully everyone on our road? How on in the heavens did you manage to "threaten" him into teaching you?"

"Well," I smirked slyly, "I may have caught him having, how to put it politely, _relations_ with my old tutor."

"Mr Hannigan?" Spluttered John.

I innocently sipped my tea.

* * *

><p>An hour and a half later, after much catching up with John and hearing<em> all<em> about Mary, we parted ways; John off to his medical practise, and I went to 221b Baker Street to call upon Mr Sherlock Holmes (not that John knew this).

Stepping out of the horse and carriage, I looked up at the tall, intimidating building that held Holmes's flat.

Taking a steadying breath, I walked up the steps and knocked on the heavy front door. Mrs Hudson, the kind housekeeper that served us dinner last night opened the door for me and politely told me that Mr Holmes was in his room.

A loud bang sounded from upstairs and I jumped slightly in surprise.

"Oh for Gods sake!" Shrieked Mrs Hudson. "That insufferable man is at it again. If he carries that up, God help me…" she muttered angrily as she bustled towards downstairs.

I quickly made my way upstairs and knocked on the door to Holmes's room, in which strange clicking noises could be heard coming from.

As soon as I knocked the clicking seized and Holmes appeared at the door two seconds later with a pistol in his hand.

"Ah, Miss Hart, I thought I'd be seeing you today." He said smugly.

"Yes, well." I harrumphed and strode past him shamelessly into his rooms.

"Please come in." He muttered sarcastically at the empty door frame before closing it. Holmes looked at me expectantly, as I glared back at him. For some reason, his mere presence made me anxious and I felt ashamed with myself that he managed to figure out my entire disguise just by glimpsing my eyes for about two seconds.

The air around us was tense as I sat in a hard wooden chair and he leant against the door frame, arms crossed.

"What can I do for you, Miss Hart?"

I clenched my jaw. "I need your help finding my brother."

"And why should I help you? You're just as bad, Miss Hart, how many people have you killed in your search for your sibling?"

I swallowed hard, my heart racing wildly in anger. "I did what was necessary, Mr Holmes. And those thugs deserved it, doing despicable things to those women, and it's not like they'd just be thrown in prison if the police got them, they'd be hung." I repeated the excuses that I told myself over and over again to try and squash the guilt that's threatening to break me every time I take a breath.

Holmes looked at me steadily, eyes reading my face carefully. He slowly moved over towards where I sat, and crouched down, hands grabbing the arms of the wooden chair.

"Do you feel no guilt?" he whispered, eyes searching my face. The barriers holding my emotions threatened to burst as I stared into his eyes, an emotional torrent tried to break free from my lips, but I fought it back, not wanting to spill my feelings to a virtual stranger.

"Do you think me inhuman, Mr Holmes?" Holmes accepted the answer, somewhat reluctantly, and moved himself away from my proximity.

A heavy silence.

"Fine. I'll help you find him, Miss Hart, but only if you can promise me one thing."

"Anything," I whispered, my heart fluttering with hope.

"When we do find him, you must ignore all feelings of loyalty that you have for him, and let us arrest him. Can you do that?"

My heart thudded and my hands shook nervously. Holmes's chocolate brown eyes bore down on me, testing my allegiance.

"Yes." I said firmly. "I won't interfere whatsoever. He's not my brother anymore."

"Elementary!" Holmes said jovially, about-turning, and striding over to a varnished violin that was lying on a chair by the fire.

"Come back tomorrow, for now I must think."

Holmes closed his eyes and began to play a slow, swelling piece on his instrument.

Closing my eyes for a brief second, I sighed and stood up. When I opened my eyes again, I caught Holmes staring at me with an expression of sympathy and sadness upon his pale face, but as soon as he saw that I'd caught him looking, he turned once again towards the fire.

* * *

><p>Hurrying through the door to my room, I closed it loudly and rushed over to the shelf that held various complimentary drinks and dainty glasses.<p>

I poured myself a brandy, spilling some due to my shaking hands, and took a deep and satisfying drink. Finally in the privacy of my own room, I let my emotions take me over as loud, shuddering sobs escaped my mouth and I slid down to the floor, crying loudly. Faces of all of the blond haired, pale faced men swimming behind my closed eye lids, as well as all of the faces of the bloodied women that I'd failed to save.

All my fault, every one of them were dead because of my brother, and ultimately me, for not saving him from himself when I had the chance.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello me dears! I hope you enjoyed that chapter, though I wasn't really very happy with it and thought it was quite dull : Well worry not, excitement shall happen next chapter! And I PROMISE not to leave it as long as I did last time…**

**Tell me what you think by leaving a review! **

**Lots of love,**

**Bookworm xxx**


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